Anthology of Magic
by Written Sparks
Summary: A collection of one-shot challenges for the HPFC forum-wide contest. My house? Ravenclaw! Various parings and genres.
1. Belong

_Challenge: Use the prompt in more than one way._

_Prompt: Place_

_House: Ravenclaw_

* * *

The dimly lit room was nearly empty except for a solitary figure in a far corner. Neville raised his wand, tried to focus, and whispered a spell. His wand emitted a small puff of faint wispy smoke. As quickly as it appeared, it dissipated. Sighing, Neville slumped against the wall. He slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the cold stone floor. Gently, he placed his wand on the floor and rolled it under his palm. The smooth wood felt comfortable yet foreign.

"I don't belong here," he whispered as he gave his wand a push, sending it rolling across the floor.

"Of course you do." A soft melodic voice spoke from the darkness. Neville's heart jumped and he looked up. Long blonde hair shone in the candlelight. Luna bent and picked up the abandoned wand. Walking towards Neville, she held out his wand. "This place came to you." She gestured around at the Room of Requirement with a whimsical smile.

Neville shook his head. "I can't do magic like everyone else. You've seen me right?" He buried his head in his hands.

"I see you," Luna said. She sank gracefully to her knees next to Neville. She reached out and placed her hand against his cheek.

Looking up, Neville felt a spark ignite inside of him. "I'm not a great wizard."

"You will be," Luna said. "You have magic inside of you. You are going to be a wonderful wizard." Cupping his face in her hands, Luna smiled. "You belong here." She tipped her head to the side and looked around the room. "And you belong here," she said, pressing her hands against her chest.

Neville's heart skipped a beat. He looked into Luna's intense silvery eyes and felt the truth in her words. Leaning in closer, he captured Luna's lips in a gentle kiss. As long as she was near him, Neville knew he would always have a place to belong.


	2. That's Why

_Challenge: Write about two characters, one of them being from my house_

_Characters: Roger Davies and Fleur Delacour_

_House: Ravenclaw_

* * *

Fleur was standing next to him. Fleur Delacour, the most beautiful girl in the world, was standing next to him. _How did I manage this? _Roger's eyes slid over to her again. They were standing outside the Great Hall with the other champions, waiting to go in. Fleur was standing only a few inches from him, they were so close that their shoulders were just barely touching. Roger realized he was staring at her and he glanced away. _Calm down, she's just a girl._ Looking at his date again Roger felt a shiver run down his spine. _The most beautiful girl I have ever seen._

"You're dress is like a cloud," he said suddenly. _What? Did I just say that out loud?_ Fleur glanced at him coolly, raised her eyebrow and then looked away. _Tell her that she looks wonderful, that she is amazing. Say something!_ He opened his mouth but the only thing that came out was an unintelligible squeak. Fleur tried to act like she hadn't heard, but he saw her roll her eyes.

Standing next to Fleur in complete silence was quickly becoming awkward and Roger wanted nothing more than to go into the Great Hall and sit down. He fidgeted with the cuff of his dress robes and then tugged at the collar._ You're a bloody idiot, you realize that? _He looked over at Fleur again. _You're standing next to the most beautiful girl and you aren't saying a word._ Roger furrowed his brow and stood up a little straighter. _Everyone wishes they were in your shoes and you're messing it up!_

Turning to face Fleur, Roger smiled widely. "Everyone is jealous of you, I mean me!" _Idiot._ "Because you're so pretty, I mean beautiful." _I'm a bumbling fool._ But Fleur smiled back at him and wrapped her hand around his arm. They followed Professor McGonagall, who was wearing an awful tartan robe, into the Great Hall. All eyes turned to the champions and their dates. _I am the luckiest man alive._

Roger led Fleur to the head table and pulled out her chair. Watching her settle gracefully into her seat, he couldn't help but smile again. He took the seat next to Fleur and suddenly the time seemed to fly by. Roger couldn't recall what he had eaten. He didn't remember a single word Fleur had said. He wasn't even sure who was sitting on his other side. He did notice how daintily Fleur ate (like a little bird), how many times she flicked her hair over her shoulder (seven times), and how often she smiled up at him (quite often, in fact.)

Later, on the dance floor, Roger pulled Fleur close to him. Dancing was a relief; he didn't have to talk and he didn't have to make his brain and his mouth coordinate. He just had to hold the most beautiful girl in the world close, and that was an easy thing to do. They swayed gently to the slow music and Fleur rested her head on his shoulder. Roger smiled. _All night I've been a complete bungler. I practiced what to say to her and I've said none of it. _He pressed his hand against the smooth silk of Fleur's dress. _Why can't I tell her the things I want to say? Why do I become an idiot around her?_ He looked down at Fleur's beautiful face. _Oh yeah, that's why._


	3. Worst Birthday

_Challenge: Select a set of prompts and use them in the piece_

_Prompt: Set Four, __wrapping paper trail, it wasn't funny, exactly, happy birthd- what?, balloons, untraditional, nineteen_

_House: Ravenclaw_

* * *

I've always hated celebrating my birthday. Always. I don't even acknowledge the day anymore. It's just another day. I get up in the morning like every other day. I go to work like every other day.

Birthdays were even worse when I was younger. I'd never wish away any of my siblings, but celebrating your birthday with five brothers and a baby sister was never fun. It doesn't help that my birthday falls just before Christmas. Every year was the same; the family would be preparing for the holiday and someone would remember that my birthday was only a few days away. My birthdays were always celebrated the same way; a little pile of presents and a cake next to bright green and red tree ornaments and cut-out snowflakes. Balloons, streamers, tinsel and popcorn garlands all getting tangled together.

Most of the specific details have been forgotten. I don't remember what gifts I received when I turned ten, or what the cake tasted like when I was seven. But, I will always remember the day I turned nineteen. My nineteenth birthday was the worst of them all.

When I woke up that morning, the first thing I noticed was that through the window in the room I shared with Bill I could see clear blue sky. _Funny._ Normally the skies in December in Ottery St. Catchpole were grey and menacing. I pushed back my faded green bedspread and gingerly pressed my bare feet to the floor. Expecting cold floor boards, I was surprised to find a slight warmth under my toes. Leaning against the window sill I noticed something else unusual. _No snow?_ Snow was something else I hated about my birthday being in winter. While the majority of the other kids got to try out their new broomsticks or toys on their birthday, I got to bundle up so tight I could barely walk and then shovel the driveway. The morning of my nineteenth birthday, however, the grass was still green and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. _How…untraditional._

Bill rolled over in his bed and then sat up. "Happy birthday Charlie," he said as he climbed out of bed. His striped pajamas were a little too short and his skinny ankles stuck out just below the cuff.

"Thanks Bill," I had murmured. Well-wishes and congratulations were always something I had avoided. And birthday wishes were the worst. Now that I'm so far from home, and no one even knows my birthday, I usually find myself having to do the math to figure out how old I am.

That morning I didn't even bother getting dressed before going downstairs. I knew mum would have breakfast going and I wanted to get there before everyone else. Plus, today was the day I was going to drop some heavy news on my family and I wanted to do it on a full stomach.

"Morning mum," I called as I entered the kitchen. She was standing at the stove wearing the brightly flowered apron we had given her for Christmas one year. I could see several wooden spoons stiring themselves in bowls of batter and porridge.

"Oh, Charlie, happy brithday." Mum turned around quickly and had given me the tightest hug ever. When she pulled away she had looked a little sad. _Did she know what I was going to tell her?_ Had that look of sadness really ever crossed her face, or was it a false memory I had placed there later?

Suddenly, Ginny had come bounding into the room, startling us both. "Happy birthday Charlie!" She was holding what looked like a bundle of paper. Shoving the bundle at me she smiled. "For you!"

When I took it in my hand I realized it was a box wrapped in Christmas paper. I held it up and pointed out the trail of wrapping paper cascading from the bottom. "Do you think you used enough paper Gin?"

Ginny frowned. "Why? Can you see what it is?" She pouted and put her hands on her hips. "No peeking until later. You can't open it yet." She had looked so serious that I held back my laughter. It was dangerous to get Ginny mad, even when she was ten.

By this time most of the family was at the table waiting to eat. "Mum, we're hungry!"

With a flick of her wand, mum sent several plates of food towards the table but didn't set them down. They hovered over the table, watched intently by the rest of the family. "Don't you all have something to say to your brother?" Mum inclined her head towards me and stared pointedly at my siblings.

"You have a pimple," Fred said with a grin. He pointed to his own forhead. "Right there."

"Happy birthday Charlie," George said. "And, it's only a little pimple."

"Boys," mum had said, a warning tone in her voice.

"Only joking," the twins chorused.

"Well, it wasn't funny, exactly," I muttered as I sat down just as the food came settled down on the table. "Where's dad?" I asked as I filled my plate. "I have something to tell you all."

"He'll be in soon," mum had said as she pointed out the window. "He's tinkering with something in the shed."

"What do you want to tell us?" Percy asked.

"Yeah, what do want to tell us?" Ginny repeated.

"Do you finally have a girlfriend?" Fred asked.

"Are you getting married?" Ginny cried.

"Do you have _another_ pimple?" George asked.

"Everyone calm down," mum shouted. Then she turned to face me. "Is it a girlfriend Charlie?"

"No, mum – "

"A boyfriend?" Fred asked.

"No! I'm going to Romania!" I shouted just as dad burst through the back door with a wrapped package in his hands.

"Happy birthd- what?" The box fell from his hands and hit the floor with a thud. "Romania? What for?"

"I'm going to study dragons," I replied quietly. That hadn't been how I wanted to tell them.

"For how long?" Dad asked.

"He's not going," mum said, shaking her head. She turned to me again. "You're not going."

"Yes mum, I am. This is what I want to do."

She shook her head again. "No Charlie it isn't."

"Yes mum, it is." I stood and approached her. "Look, I love you all very much and I'll miss you, but this is the best opportunity in the world!"

"No Charlie, it isn't."

Mum hadn't spoken to me the rest of the day. There was no special birthday supper and there was no cake.

I haven't celebrated a single birthday since.


	4. Or So They Think

_Challenge: Write a piece of romance focusing on one given character and one chosen character not from my house._

_Character: Hermione Granger_

_House: Ravenclaw_

_Additional Note: Hermione is a hard character for me to write, so I'm keeping this shorter._

* * *

Here he comes again. She shouldn't like him. He's heading this way. He's her friend, she shouldn't like him.

But there he goes, brushing back his flaming red head and her knees quiver.

She shifts her stack of books from one hip to the other and smiles at him. Harry's there too and Hermione knows that he knows.

Ron, on the other hand, is oblivious; or so she thinks. He thinks of her as a friend, and only a friend; or so she thinks. He would never reciprocate the feelings of love she has for him; or so she thinks. He would laugh if he knew; or so she thinks.

He walks towards her. He shouldn't like her. She's standing there, waiting for them. She's his friend, he shouldn't like her.

Nervously, he flattens his hair down, catches her eye, and his hands shake.

He wonders if he should offer to carry all those books for her and smiles down at her. Harry's there too and Ron knows that he knows.

Hermione, on the other hand, is oblivious; or so he thinks. She only thinks of him as a friend, nothing more; or so he thinks. She would never like – no, love – him the way he loves her; or so he thinks. She would laugh if she knew; or so he thinks.


	5. You Can Cry

_Challenge: Choose your own prompt, 1-4 lines from any source and use two characters from a house you haven't previously used._

_Characters: Draco and Narcissa Malfoy_

_House: Ravenclaw_

* * *

_Mat Kearney – Closer to Love_

_And don't apologize_

_For all the tears you've cried._

_You've been way too strong now for all your life._

* * *

"Mother, I need – " Draco stopped short in the doorway to their drawing room. His mother was sitting alone on a hard-backed chair, her face in her hands. He had never seen his mother this way. His mother was always the picture of strength. In his eyes she was a pillar of stone, never cracking or wavering. She had stood faithfully beside his father for as long as he could remember. Now that the war was over and his father was in Azkaban, Narcissa was like a wilted flower.

Draco took a step into the dark room. His mother didn't look up, she hadn't heard him enter. Surrounded by the rich, dark texture of the room, Narcissa looked like a pale beacon of light. Draco had always been drawn to his mother. He always tried to please his father, but it was his mother he truly loved most. He drew nearer to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. Startled, Narcissa looked up at her son. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her face ashen.

"Draco." Her voice wavered and she looked ashamed. Quickly, she stood and turned her back to her son. But Draco saw her wipe her eyes and take a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered as she turned to face him again. "Without your father…" She trailed off and fell silent.

"What about my father?" Draco looked at his mother and noticed that they were the same height. "You were always the strong one, mother. He is the one who is nothing without you."

"Draco?" Her voice was full of confusion and she furrowed her brow.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Draco said, he hesitated a moment and then took his mother's hand in his. "It's alright. You can cry."

And she did; she let her son draw her closer, and cried.


	6. A Little Slip of Paper

_Challenge: write about a missing canon moment, write in first person_

_Character: Hannah Abbott_

House: Ravenclaw

* * *

I shivered a little, tucked my bare toes underneath myself and snuggled further into the sofa. The over-stuffed, pale floral print piece of furniture was the ugliest thing my parents owned but it was so comfortable; it was my favorite place to sit and read. Flipping to the next page in the latest edition of the Quibbler I smiled and turned it upside-down to read about ancient runes.

"Sweetheart," my mum called as she came into the front room. She was holding a large parchment envelope; my Hogwarts letter. "This came today." She handed the letter to me and kissed me on the top of my head.

The letter felt heavy, heavier than normal. "What's in here?"

Mum shrugged. "I don't know. It's heavy, isn't it?" She smiled at me, sipped her tea, and went back to the kitchen.

Putting down the magazine, I weighed the envelope in my hands. "Strange." I turned it over and stared at the green seal. Slowly, I tore it open. Something heavy slid out and landed on my lap. "A prefect? They want me to be a prefect?" I picked up the shiny badge and examined it closely. There had to be a mistake. Professor Dumbledore would have never intentionally sent this to me. I turned the badge over in my hands.

I would write to the school, to Professor Dumbledore, and let him know what happened. I could send the badge back and they could give it to the right person.

I'm not smart enough or strong enough to be a prefect. This had to be a mistake. I'm not the kind of person people respect, or look up to. No one would take me seriously. I couldn't be a prefect. I was just silly, plain Hannah Abbott. I picked up the envelope and moved it to the side and a little slip of paper fluttered out. I picked it up and noticed the slanted cursive on one side.

_I believe in you, Hannah._

Professor Dumbledore. He believed in me? He believed in me!

Maybe I _could_ do it.


	7. Finally Happy

_Challenge: "break up" a canon pairing without ignoring the results of the pairing_

_Pairing: George/Katie breaking up George/Angelina_

_House: Ravenclaw_

* * *

George shuffled along Diagon Alley, an armload of babies and baby things. He was following close behind his wife, Angelina, who was only holding her purse.

They were passing Quality Quidditch when Angelina stopped suddenly, causing George to crash into her. Little Fred's hand slipped out of George's and Roxanne started crying.

"A new broom," Angelina said breathlessly, almost reverently. George jiggled Roxanne and shushed her gently. "It's beautiful." She sighed and then glanced back at George, an angry scowl marring her face. "Make her stop." She sighed again and turned back to the broom behind the glass.

George groaned and closed his eyes tightly. He took a few deep breaths and then opened his eyes again and smiled down at his baby. "Hey Roxie," he said gently. "Hey baby." He rocked her, the best he could while reaching for Freddie's hand and balancing the diaper bag at the same time.

"Don't call her that," Angelina snapped, still staring at the broom. George glanced up at his wife and realized she wasn't staring at the broom anymore; she was looking at her reflection in the window pane. She eyed herself critically, staring at the extra pounds that had settled on her waist and hips.

"Angie?" The bag of Freddie's toys was falling off his shoulder. "Angie, the bag, can you grab it?"

Angelina whipped around and glared at George. "No, I can't," she said, her eyes flashing. "That's the reason why I can't have that." She pointed fiercely at the broom in the window. Then she jabbed her fingers towards the children. "They're the reason the Falmouth Falcons wouldn't re-sign me."

"Angie, these are our children, my children."

"You don't have a – "

"Katie!" Angelina suddenly squealed, looking over George's shoulder. She dropped the acid tone to her voice and the anger left her eyes.

George turned in the direction Angelina was squealing. Katie Bell was coming towards them and she looked…George searched for the right word…radiant. Katie looked radiant. She was smiling thinly at Angelina but when she saw George the smile brightened and fully reached her eyes.

"How are you?" Katie asked as she hugged Angelina lightly. But before Angelina could answer Katie turned to George and the kids. "Well, aren't you handsome," she said as she bent down to Freddie's level. "You look just like your father," she added, smiling up at George.

* * *

"Katie, what are you doing here?" George asked quietly. He had been startled by a knock on the shop's window while he was closing up. He had ushered her in quickly and locked the door behind her.

Katie giggled. "Just saying hello." She hiccupped and swayed a little on the spot.

"Are you drunk?"George asked, showing her to a seat. She sat down heavily and he laughed.

"Oh George, are you happy?"

"Where did that come from?" George conjured up a chair and sat down next to her. A lamp outside the shop shone through the bottles lined up against the front window, casting multi-colored light on Katie's face. She was beautiful.

"Because," she shook her head forcefully. "I'm not happy." She fiddled with the hem of her dark skirt. "My boss calls me Miss Bell and my co-workers call me Katherine. I'm scared that I'm the only unhappy person in the whole world."

"That's not true – wait, your co-workers call you Katherine? But you're name's Katie, just Katie."

Katie laughed. "I know that." She swayed again in the chair and George caught her gently. Katie stopped laughing and looked up at George, her pale blue eyes full of regret and sadness. "Please tell me I'm not the only one who's unhappy."

"You're not the only one who's unhappy," George repeated quietly. "I have a wife who hates the sight of me and a dead twin brother."

"I'm sorry George."

George was still holding Katie by the shoulders and he gently pulled her closer. "I want to be happy again," he whispered.

"Me too," she replied.

Suddenly his mouth was on hers. He kissed her fiercely, something he had watched to do for years and years. She responded to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

After a few breathless moments Katie pulled away. "I've been drinking," she said. "But not enough to be alright with this." She pulled back and sat very straight in the chair. "We can't do this." She looked away. "No matter how much I want to, we can't do this."

"Why not," came a cold voice from the shadows by the fireworks display. Angelina stepped into the light, her arms folded across her chest.

"Angie," said both George and Katie simultaneously. Katie had stayed jumped too her feet, but George had remained very still in his chair.

"Angie," George repeated. "This – "

"You aren't going to try to tell me this isn't what I think it is, are you?" Angelina spat, her voice full of venom.

"No, I'm not," George said as he stood. "First, I'm going to ask you; who is with our children?"

"Ginny."

"Then, I'm going to say; this is exactly what it looks like." Both women's mouths dropped open. "I've been in love with Katie for as long as I can remember and this," he reached out to Katie and gently grasped her wrist. "This is me finally being happy."

"Me too," Katie whispered.

* * *

_Note: I understand that this seems very sudden but please remember that these are just tiny little moments in their lives. This doesn't deal with consequences of actions, just the exact moment when these actions took place. Thanks._


End file.
